A Highland Werewolf Wedding - By Terry Spear Page 0,14
that would not be too intimate, just a light kiss on the top of the head maybe, he found he couldn’t make himself do it. Not with his wolfish needs gaining momentum, the desire filling him to press his mouth against her sexy rain-moistened lips. To prove to himself that his feelings weren’t one-sided.
He leaned over and kissed her mouth, gently as if she would break, not wanting to force her into complying in the event she wasn’t ready for this. Her mouth softened under his touch, accepting him, allowing him this intimacy.
To his surprise and delight, she reached up and set her hands on his shoulders and pulled him closer. Already their hearts were beating at a frantic pace, their pheromones kicking up another notch.
She closed her eyes and gave in to the kiss, slowly at first, then more boldly. He groaned as she parted her lips, permitting him more familiarity. He took advantage of the moment, sliding his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her, wanting so much more.
Wolves didn’t share such intimacies lightly, not with each other, not without some kind of spark that initiated further interest. They didn’t make commitments with humans, so as long as the human was willing, they found mutual release with one another until the wolf discovered a mate. Then his wolf mate would be the only one for him.
So even taking it this far meant she was just as intrigued with him as he was with her. He should have backed off, kissed her on her uninjured cheek, just to say he was sorry. Yet, he couldn’t help the way he was feeling about her. Not when her mouth was so appealing, tasting sweet and wet and willing. Not when he had wanted to press his lips against hers from the moment she’d gotten out of the car after the accident, and he’d finally allowed his gaze to roam to her face and see the way her lips had been pursed. At him. Turning him on.
As the pouring rain pelted the car in a steady rhythm, he deepened the kiss and heat consumed him. Steam covered the windows, and he felt as though they were in a time capsule far away from Calla’s wedding, the church, the car park, the Highlands—off in another world. Elaine was all soft curves and feminine fragrance: her she-wolf scent and the sweet-smelling soaps she’d washed in, a hint of perfume, but most of all, the undeniable smell of her sexual desire leading him on.
They couldn’t help that part of their wolf nature, the keen ability to smell subtle scents that a human couldn’t, the way in which they could sense the shift in emotions—fear, lust, excitement, aggression—just from breathing deeply of the air surrounding them.
He had to force himself not to move his hands from her face, not to explore her soft womanly curves, not to taste so much more of her as her tongue danced with his, not to want more. With the greatest regret, he pulled his mouth away from hers, away from the heated exchange that shouldn’t have occurred, away from the raging desire to take this further.
For a moment, he still cupped her face and looked into her dark eyes, reading the confusion there, not wishing to fully break contact with her. Their breathing rapid, their hearts were thumping wildly as if they’d just run a race, yet they were still running for the finish line.
Then he released her, and her cheeks blossomed in color as if she was suddenly aware of just how intimate the exchange had been between two unmated wolves.
Thank God he was wearing a kilt and no adjustments had to be made as he was ramrod stiff and ready to bury himself in her soft feminine folds. If he’d been wearing trousers and boxers, they would have strangled him.
She looked dazed as she gave him a tentative smile, then sighed. “Don’t be sorry,” she said, looking away and drawing closer to the heater to dry her dress. She was no longer shivering. Not after what had happened between them.
For that he was glad. He wanted to ask if she meant not to be sorry about the kiss, when he was not apologetic about that in the least.
When he didn’t move the car—he was still too caught up in the profound moment he’d shared with her—she turned to look at him again and raised her brows. “I meant about the cheek.”